Lighting the Darkness
by The Misty Jewel
Summary: Two detectives meet a girl named Evelyn, who helps them solve cases. Little do they realize, they are also helping her as well. Inspired by my best friend, Evelyn, who is battling depression at the moment. I hope to help her get through this with writing things for her, and I hope that she wins this tragic war. Rating may change.
1. Evelyn Tae

**Author's Note-**

**Originally I have never given a thought of putting someone I know into a story. I have always believed that I will not write them correctly, or I will portray their emotions or opinions unlike how they would be in real life.**

**However, giving that into consideration, I have decided to do just this, for my dearest friend ever, and who will always hold a special place in my heart of hearts, Evelyn.**

**To those who do not like OCs, who think them to be petty love interests or simple, flat characters, I beg you to reconsider. Evelyn is the most complex, wonderful, beautifully original person I know, and I write this fanfiction not only to support her in her time of need, but to also congratulate her on her progress against the dark and chaotic sea of depression, which she battles every day.**

**To those who have depression, who know how it feels to hate and fear and have the sickening feeling of sadness twist them, this is not only for Evelyn, but for all of you. You are all beautiful people, you are all amazing, and original, and God has made every one of you into the wonderful people that you are right now.**

**And if you do not believe in a God, or if you believe in many gods, please, think of that in whatever way you deem appropriate.**

**I realize that this fanfiction may not be a success. Many people may pass it by, many people will look upon it, scoff at it for what it is about, somehow decide it is not worth their while.**

**Well I can tell you, Evelyn is worth your while. She's worth everyone's whiles, and a thousand more, and I hope to someday see that her fanfictions have a place of honor among this site.**

**I love you like a sister, Evelyn. Do not ever cut yourself again. Do not think that you are imperfect, because we are all imperfect, we are all human, and in this way we are perfect, in our own imperfections.**

**Do not give into depression. Do not think you are less than anyone else. Do not accept that someone is your superior. Do not believe that you deserve anything less than greatness. Do not think I don't want spend my time talking to you, because I do. Do not enjoy pain. Do not think yourself deserving of pain. Do not pick up that knife. Do not ever cut yourself again.**

**I love you like a sister, Evelyn, in my heart of hearts. Nothing that you ever say about yourself will change that.**

**-Misty**

o0O0o

Evelyn Tae sat at the cafe, the steam emanating from her tea drowning her in it's subtle scent, her fingers warm against the sides of the glass. She looked outside calmly, almost carefully. She was a very cautious person.

The waiter came over. She was a regular here, and they all called each other by name. So, in fact, it was not 'the waiter' that came over, but Phil, the funniest, most silver tongued demon that Evelyn had ever known.

"How are you today, Evelyn?" He asked, voice startling her from the trance of the view of the street, breaking her eyes away from the cars racing past.

"Fine." Evelyn's quiet response returned. The short response made it clear she wished to be alone.

Phil nodded. Perhaps now was not the time. He turned, went back to the kitchen to help the chef.

Evelyn continued to stare out the window. The glass was dirty, a grayish brown film covering it, obscuring the world into a gentle mist, as if it was foggy outside. There was a small crack at the top of the window, going down about an inch before randomly darting to the right, and then abruptly stopping.

The crack had always been there, from the first day Evelyn had set foot in this cafe, long before she began recognizing the staff here by first names, long before she had ever known this part of London, long before she'd even realized that this cafe existed.

But, just because she hadn't known of it didn't mean it wasn't worth her while. She had an open mind, and she gave it a shot. Now she was a regular. She always had tea, although the type sometimes varied.

She looked again, outside of the window. She smiled softly at the cars racing past, at the trees in the park opposite swaying. She gazed upon the couple walking across the street, hand in hand, and the family in the park, the little boy tugging at his mother's hand.

Evelyn took a sip of her tea, her beautiful oriental features brightening at the taste of the hot liquid. A hand pushed back a stray lock of hair blocking her view, which curled around and around, more times than anyone cared to count.

It was uncommon for Evelyn to get a lock of hair in her face. She kept her hair in a ponytail, as it was the most practical. She was a practical person, after all. People often looked at her oddly, for she put a pencil in the back of her ponytail, just to keep one handy. One never knew when one might want a pencil, especially when their muse would randomly strike without warning.

She always wore long sleeves, with a blue sweater that had intricately designed flowers on it. She loved this sweater. Again, it was very useful.

She finished her tea, having had to wait for it to cool for several minutes, and exited the shop, having already payed the bill. She hugged herself at the cold breeze that blew past her when she stepped outside, for it was November, and getting colder outside.

She walked. She loved walking. Walking was peaceful, and wonderful, and she could think so much more clearly when she was walking, the complete silence of her absense of company a wonder for clearing her head.

The street's sidewalk was cracked, as would be expected, since almost everything was worn down some way or another on this side of town. Luckily, she had enough money to own a flat on the other side of town. She got money from the books she published, obscure fantasies that sprang from her mind insanely often, making it hard to write it all down.

It would have been a normal day.

Except of course, for the fact that the next corner she turned gave way to a very different sight than what she was used to.

There was police tape, and a few police cars, a couple of officers milling about. She could've sworn a few security cameras looked over at her, as if they actually had minds of their own, and were interested in who she was.

What really caught her breath, however, was the fact that two figures stood with their backs to her, looking at something on the ground, which was mostly covered by a white tarp.

She felt like she couldn't breath. Was it really? _The_ Sherlock Holmes? She didn't think she could possibly so lucky as to stumble upon the genius randomly, simply coming home the way she always had.

She wanted to leave, not confront them. _I'm not worth their time,_ she thought. _They've got much bigger things to do right now, like solving a murder._

Still, it wasn't like she was going to backtrack, and withstand another twenty minutes of walking in this cold, if she could just slip past them.

She walked on the sidewalk like normal, trying to just slip past and get to her flat.

"Hey!" A female voice called out. "What _are_ you doing?" A young looking office, with tan brown skin walked up to her angrily. "This is a crime scene." Evelyn looked at the woman, reading the nametag "Donovan" on her uniform.

She swallowed, said "I'm just getting back to my flat is all. It's just a block or two away!" The anger slipped out at the end, as she was unable to conceal it entirely.

Donovan glared at her. "Well you're going to have to find another way, I'm sorry." She said simply. Part of Evelyn thought Donovan was only telling her this since she'd gotten angry at her.

"That's going to take me another twenty minutes, and-"

"I don't care." Donovan said sternly. "It's my job, I can't just slack off because some idiot can't walk twenty more minutes!"

A base voice sliced into the conversation. "Be careful who you call an idiot, Donovan. That usually means that they're much smarter than you."

Evelyn looked up nervously, knowing fully well what celebrity had just uttered the comment. Sherlock Holmes was on the news everywhere. She'd adored him the moment he first came into public view. She loved him for his genius, and his detachment, and a million other things. How she wished she could be as detached as he was.

And now she was meeting him. She felt immediately shy, immediately thought about turning around and leaving, but realized it was too late to change her mind: This course of action was set already.

Donovan growled something under her breath, and Evelyn was glad she didn't hear the comment. Then Donovan turned, and walked away, throwing up her arms dramatically, and saying to herself, "It's no use, is it?" and stormed off.

Which meant that now Evelyn Tae, the shyest person on Earth, was now within five feet of her biggest hero of all time.

It thrilled her, and made her want to turn tail and hide at the same time. She looked up with a shy smile playing across her thin lips, brightening her pale features.

Sherlock Holmes was not one that a person could be comfortable with in a room, Evelyn realized, unless you knew him very well. And even then, it must have been hard. His face was pale, incredibly, to the point where it almost seemed like a very tinted sheet of paper instead of very lightened skin. his hair was such a dark brown, it made his skin all the paler. The Belstaff coat looked wonderful for this kind of weather.

"Thank you." Evelyn choked out after a moment. She smiled again, a very shy, cautious smile.

"It was nothing. Donovan is always behaving like an animal. You must excuse her for that fact." He replied, that quick wittedness that had made him so popular among the press coming into play.

John walked up. Evelyn squirmed where she stood, wanting fully to be anywhere but here. "Ah hello." John asked, looking slightly confused. "Um, Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Donovan was being annoying, and she was being smart." Sherlock said simply, pointing to Evelyn. Evelyn's forehead wrinkled, not understanding the compliment fully. How was she smart? And why would Sherlock Holmes, to whom everyone else seemed to be primitive, call her that?

She didn't know. But it made her blush, and wish to be away from here even harder, and seemed to make sure that her legs turned to stone and she was rooted there, unable to escape.

John came over, shook her hand. She shivered in the cold. "What's a case doing out here?" She finally managed to speak again. "I thought you guys were only in the main parts of the city."

John cast an annoyed glance at Sherlock. "Well, Sherlock here seems to think that any case, wherever it is, is worth his attention if it's hard enough to solve." He said in a reprimanding tone, making it clear he did not agree. "So yeah, we're basically anywhere in the UK, but mostly in London."

Evelyn looked around, making sure that Donovan wasn't going to chew her out. "So can I cut through here to my flat, or what?"

John shrugged. "Sure, I guess. As long as Mycroft doesn't skin us alive, then sure."

Sherlock stalked back toward the middle of the street, where the white tarp was. Evelyn had a feeling of what was under it. He held the police tape up like a gentleman opening a door, a very odd comparison, but one that was altogether quite fitting.

Evelyn looked around. "No, I just wanted to get back to my flat!"

John glared at Sherlock. "You are not dragging some random person into a crime scene."

Sherlock looked back, raised an eyebrow. "I did that with you, didn't I?"

John looked at him. "I was different."

"How so?"

No answer. Evelyn really didn't want to spark an argument, and delay things any further. She just decided to play along, see if she could find a way to excuse herself as the time progressed.

Suddenly Donovan was back on scene. "You're not seriously letting her onto the crime scene!" She growled.

Sherlock shrugged, and Donovan turned back around, admitting total defeat against Sherlock Holmes.

Evelyn was near enough to her to hear her complain to the sky "Unbelieveable!"

o0O0o

**A/N- Again, to my dearest friend Evelyn. Don't you dare pick up that knife. :')**

**I'm not quite sure how this story will progress, to be honest. I hope to make this a collab with Evelyn, but right now it seems I'll be making it myself.**

**I hope you enjoyed, Evelyn! :) You deserve this, and a lot more, because after all, my writing is freaking terrible.**

**-Misty**


	2. Deductions

**Author's Note-**

**This is, again, to Evelyn, who is amazing, and a wonderful person to know. It is also to my other friends, including Grace, who has PTSD, and to Heather, whose parents are divorced. We can all make it through this.**

**It's funny; a lot of my friends are in bad ways right now. Yet I'm not, and here I am, feeling just as bad, because I feel for them, and I'm worried sick about some others.**

**Sometimes it seems that I'm their rock- that I'm the one constant in some of their busy, changing lives, and so I am also the one they lean on in a time of need. Two of my friends went to me in times of huge crises. It is both a compliment that I would be so dear to them as to have them rely on me in this way, and it is also a weight, which I am more than willing to carry for all of them.**

**Perhaps I am playing up my importance, thinking these things. But perhaps not. If so, however, then at least I can know that I'm there, and ready, if anything ever **_**does**_ **happens to them.**

**I'll stop rambling now. This fic is for Evelyn, and Grace, and Heather after all, not about me. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do, please tell Evelyn "Hi" in the review.**

**-Misty**

o0O0o

Evelyn Tae had never seen a body before.

Nor had she ever wanted to. It reminded her of the horrible loss of life, and she was slightly, illogically afraid of seeing one. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was because seeing someone's still, dead face would hurt her, make her feel for them more than ever, perhaps even it would open her eyes to the bloodshed which she turned a blind eye on when it came onto the news.

It wasn't as bad as she thought, but John put a hand on her shoulder when her face paled slightly as she entered the crime scene, and it came into view. "You okay?" He asked.

She nodded, wide eyed, and eyes quickly darting over to the white tarp again.

She'd know what was under it. And now it was staring her right in the face.

Sherlock was muttering to himself. "White male, age 23, name Richard Carlson, married happily for over 6 year, works at a manufacturing company of some kind..." He went on, rifling through the man's wallet to look for more clues. "John, I could use you over here." He said, not giving the tone of his voice that suggested an option.

John sighed, took a look at Evelyn again, and then went back over to Sherlock. "What is it?"

Sherlock smiled that thin, but altogether meaningful smile of his. "I need a medical assessment."

John grinned. "You've already figured out everything! Now you're just trying to make me look like an idiot."

Sherlock pouted. "True, John, but still, practice makes perfect."

John sighed, crouched down to examine the body. Evelyn walked up closer, and watched, discovering it wasn't quite as bad as she had anticipated.

"He's clean, no dirt, no scratches, no nothing…" John mumbled, mostly to himself. "So there wasn't a struggle."

"Very perceptive, John." Sherlock said dryly.

John scowled and continued. "Like you said, white male, 23, his clothes are practical, tough, very worn, so, like you said again, he must have worked in a factory or somewhere like that…" John continued. "Cause of death-"

He froze. Sherlock smiled, his smile that told everyone there was a very nice murder, and he was happy about getting to solve it.

John shook his head, unbelieving. "Cause of death is asphyxiation, just like the last poor bloke. No blood, no sign of struggle, no marks of any kind. Granted, we haven't done an autopsy yet, but who wants to bet…" He trailed off, looked up at Sherlock in amazement. "These two men died in exactly the same way." He said simply.

Sherlock laughed, stood up happily. "A serial killer! John, it's marvelous, I haven't gotten one of these for weeks!" He threw his arms up, clapped, looking altogether quite chipper, and happy. "Oh I love serial killers." He said to himself. "Phone Lestrade!" He called over his shoulder to John, who grumbled under his breath.

Evelyn watched in awe, as Sherlock Holmes celebrated, _publicly_, the fact that a murderer was smart, and out to get them. She edged back toward the crime scene tape, deciding that no one would miss her if she slipped out unnoticed, and began to lift the tape.

Sherlock's voice came over to her. "Going somewhere?" He asked, almost sounding unhappy that she'd tried to ditch them.

"My flat, I've had quite enough of dead bodies." She replied simply.

"But don't you want to help us solve it?" Sherlock asked.

"How? What can I possibly offer you that you don't have?" She questioned. "Why'd you call me smart? I'm not smart."

She lifted the tape, slid under it fluidly.

"But you are." He said simply. "I can observe it, just looking at you."

"Oh really?" The sarcastic reply came quickly.

"Yes, really. You're wearing practical clothes, a good idea in weather like this, although you might want to try a heavier coat." He gestured to his own Belstaff coat to punctuate this. "When you were talking with Donovan, you attempted to be reasonable, even when she behaved barbarically. You walk with a straight, upright posture of someone who paid a good amount attention in class, sitting at the edge of the seat listening to the teacher, and developing the posture that way. Also, you're not born British, are you?" He asked.

She nodded.

"Yes, well, another factor. Did you know that oriental people are much more likely to have higher test scores and IQs than average?" He kept talking, a mile a minute. "Plus the fact that you have a pencil in your hair- a very resourceful idea, making you an innovative person with new ideas. The fact that it's a pencil suggests you're a writer, needing to be prepared. The notebook you're carrying only confirms this all the more."

He stopped, took a breath, looking fully like he wanted to go on. Evelyn was glad he hadn't though. Getting read like a book by the world's only consulting detective was both thrilling, and very humbling at the same time. She knew she was insanely lucky to have this happen to her.

John gave another reprimanding look at Sherlock as he walked over, which Sherlock returned with a forced smile. "Terrorized her enough yet?" John asked sarcastically.

"No, just getting started." The response was immediate, and Evelyn was surprised. Surprised that Sherlock Holmes, the one and only, would take even a slight interest in her.

John sighed. "Looks like he's taken a liking to you, unfortunately." He said dryly. "Honestly, I think I've been almost killed a good dozen times because of him taking a liking to me, so watch out, would you?" He took out a notepad, began writing. "Here's our number. If you think you're up to helping us out on this one, just give us a call."

Sherlock smiled. "Now you're getting the hang of it, John."

John frowned, his brow furrowing. "I hope we don't make it a _habit_ to drag innocent citizens onto crime scenes." It was a loaded sentence, clearing saying something more like "You'd better not." than "We shouldn't."

Evelyn couldn't help but admire the fact that John could somehow keep this man in check. It seemed Sherlock did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, but it also seemed that John could reign him in a bit, if only minimally. Still, every little bit counted.

She smiled. "Maybe I will." She said to herself, but also to Sherlock, and John. "Thanks." She held up the humber to the light, studying it.

John nodded, Sherlock turned briskly and went back to the body to examine it further.

Evelyn looked back at the two and smiled to herself. They almost seemed like children, except of course they weren't. She made to leave, cutting through the crime scene to get to the block her flat was on.

It was funny, because she thought she saw a camera look her way again.

But no, that was impossible. It could only have been her imagination.

o0O0o

**Author's Note-**

**I just had to put another Mycroft hint at the end. The British Government is too awesome to leave out! ;)**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed it, and I also hope you review! Your opinions help me progress, and your criticism really helps my writing better itself, and gets me to recognize when I've made errors. Thanks for reading!**

**-Misty**


End file.
